


Dropped In Shallow Waters

by Omorka



Category: Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-17
Updated: 2011-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omorka/pseuds/Omorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ghostbusters revisit the site of the mass sponge migration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dropped In Shallow Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Minor spoilers for "Moaning Stones," major spoilers for "Devil In The Deep." And the first OTO or GD alchemist who tells me I spelled Nicksa's name wrong (a) can blame JMS and (b) should be glad I didn't spell it Nyxa.

_Prologue_

Raymond Stantz made a last-minute adjustment to his facemask and leaned back, letting gravity take him off the railing of the boat and into the warm sea water. He shivered with excitement - this was the first time he’d gone scuba diving since getting his certificate, and so far everything was perfect. The sky was a crystalline cerulean; the water, clear as glass.

The tour guide waited, slowly treading water, as the last two tourists toppled into view. The edge of the old Spanish shipwreck below was clearly visible, its dark rotting beams against white coral and sand. The inhabitants of the Keys had made their living during the Age of Sail by salvaging the valuables from shipwrecks, but this one, the legend said, had been an exception; the wreckers had been scared off by strange lights in the drowned sails, sudden gusts of wind, even underwater moans. So now this particular inhabitant made a living bringing tourism to the haunted wreck instead.

As they kicked off and glided towards the sunken ship, Ray tried to memorize every detail - not that it looked particularly haunted by the bright light of a Caribbean day, exactly. The brightly-colored sponges and corals on the reef the ship had foundered against looked nearly cheerful. Still, the patchy view through the portholes - a lamp hanging askew from a rusted hook, ropes still in coils, the last remnants of the rigging swaying in the current - was a bit creepy, a reminder of mortality and the passage of time. Not for the first time, Ray wished he and Egon had finished the psychokinetic energy meter they’d been working on, although it wouldn’t have really worked underwater.

The guide had finished his circuit of the wreck, and the other tourists were merrily poking about between the oaken ribs. Ray drifted back, wanting a bigger picture. His eyes traced the coral ridge, picking out where the ship would have struck, where the hole would have been torn in the hull. The crew had probably had enough time to get out, if they weren’t either greedy or duty-bound, trying to save the cargo. The question would have been whether they could get to shore in the storm; even under good conditions, it would have been a long swim.

Something flickered in the corner of Ray’s eye. His head whipped around, nearly sending the respirator tube into his own ear; he flinched, and lost track of the motion. It might have just been a shadow on the surface, he reminded himself.

Slowly, something rippled below him. He looked down; the motion repeated. Very slowly, the sponges, red and yellow and beige, swayed back and forth, back and forth, back and forth -

And ended a good eighteen inches from their starting point.

Ray racked his brains for his last class containing any marine biology. Sponges were sessile, weren’t they?

He looked up, directly into their tour guide’s facemask. The guide was frantically gesturing them upwards.

Reluctantly, Ray obeyed, leaving the mystery of the unexplained sponge migration on the floor of the Florida Straits.

A shadow peered from behind the shattered mast as the tourists rose, as fast as the nitrogen in their blood would let them.

\---

Janine carefully took the mop from Slimer’s sticky hands. “Now, Slimer,” she chided, “What have you learned today?”

“No fwying backwawds frough the wobby,” Slimer whimpered. The floor was still wet where the tank from the water cooler had landed, but at least there was no longer a puddle, and the tank was in one piece.

Winston grunted as he stood the cooler back on its feet. “I think it’ll be okay,” he assured Janine. “Didn’t look like anything was broken.”

“I figured,” she sighed. “I’d be a lot madder if I thought he’d busted it.” She lifted the bucket by the handle and handed it to the little green ghost. “Go dump this out in the bathroom sink, rinse it out, and put it back in the broom closet. I’ll take care of wringing the mop out later.”

“Okay,” Slimer agreed, and zoomed off, managing to only slosh a little of the dirty water back onto the floor.

Winston leaned against Janine’s desk and shook his head. “I’m kinda glad that happened when Pete wasn’t in the office,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, me too,” Janine agreed, one eyebrow arched. “I don’t want to have to deal with him griping about it all day. But I’m glad you got back early; I don’t know if I could have hauled that around myself.”

“Turns out Frank didn’t really need my help,” Winston explained. “By the time I got there, Dad had pretty much fixed the truck. I think Mom thought it was worse than it was.”

“Either that, or the bus was running later than usual,” Janine agreed.

“Nah, traffic on the bridge wasn’t that bad - oh, hey,” Winston interrupted himself as the garage door started to swing open, “The guys are back already.”

“Egon didn’t think it was going to take long; it sounded like it was just a Class Two,” Janine pointed out as Ecto pulled into its usual spot.

The front passenger door opened first, and Egon climbed out, his face studiously neutral. He met Janine’s eyes, then Winston’s, and raised one eyebrow just a hint, tilting his head back slightly, before heading to open Ecto’s back hatch.

“Uh-oh,” Janine murmured, as Winston grimaced slightly.

Ray emerged next, bouncing from the driver’s seat with significantly less than his usual energy. He flashed them a weak grin before trying to head around the fender to help Egon unload.

Peter opened the back door before Ray could get past it, sliding out as if he were in absolutely no hurry, which he probably wasn’t. “Hey, Winston,” he called across the first floor with a half-wave, “Just for future reference, you’re not allowed to have family emergencies on mornings when we have easy jobs with clients we’ve had trouble collecting from before. Your brother’s gonna have to have his car trouble on a better schedule from now on.”

Winston grimaced. “They try to stiff us again?”

“No,” Egon jumped in, as if he were trying to pre-empt Peter. “This time, they were effusively grateful. They just didn’t have enough liquid assets to cover the charges.” He hoisted a single blinking trap by the handle and checked something in the cargo area.

Ray winced. “C’mon, guys,” he wheedled, “if we’d just billed him later, there’s no guarantee he wouldn’t have just changed his tune again.”

Janine pulled up a spreadsheet on the computer and glared at them. “Cut to the chase and tell me what I’m supposed to put in here.”

Egon very carefully looked at the ceiling. “The Cavignac Travel Agency and Vacation Planners offered us payment in trade rather than in cash or credit.”

Janine blinked; Winston raised an eyebrow. Peter threw his hands in the air. “You explain it, Ray; you’re the one who said yes.”

Ray flinched, then turned towards Winston. “Uh, business has been kind of short for them since they started being haunted, and it’s just gotten worse since it’s happened twice now, although I still think this one came looking for the one that we trapped the first time. So when we caught it - Egon was right, by the way, it was just a Class Two and it wasn’t even very fast - Mr. Cavignac explained that they couldn’t pay us, but they were willing to provide us with services equivalent to our usual fees.”

“Which they were already bound to provide to someone,” Peter broke in. “A family of four had just cancelled their vacation when we came in, and all they did was hand us the same tickets.” He folded his arms and glared at Ray. “I was in the middle of telling him they could cut us a check for 10% and we’d bill them for the rest, but Ray took one look at the destination and said yes.”

“Without asking either of us,” Egon grumbled, finally showing annoyance.

Winston grimaced. “Well, it’s not like we’re really tight for cash right now, but yeah, Ray, not cool.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Ray said, his voice quavering. “I just - I mean, we’d been working really hard for weeks now, and it seems like we’ve hit a slow patch - the last couple of days have been one call each - couldn’t we use a vacation?” His voice slid higher on the question, pleading for Winston to back him up.

Janine glanced up at Winston and asked the next question for him. “Where to?”

“Key West,” Peter groaned. “I wouldn’t mind it so much if it were a sea cruise, or Europe, or even Cancun, but it’s not even out of the United States!”

Winston relaxed a bit. “Well, yeah. Ray, you shouldn’t have made the decision for everyone; I’m kind of irked about that.”

“I’m sorry,” Ray whimpered, shrinking an inch where he stood.

“But,” Winston continued, “I think there’s a pretty good chance Cavignac would have gone back to his whole ghosts-aren’t-real routine before we got around to collecting on the rest of the bill, and I’m not sure I’m up to the hassle of trying to wring it out of him without involving a lawyer.”

“That was my thought exactly,” Egon agreed; his shoulders relaxed slightly.

Winston shrugged. “And I was a kid the last time I went to Florida, and it’s after Labor Day, so their tourist season should be winding down a little. How long is the trip?”

Ray brightened slightly. “We’d be flying down on Thursday and back up Monday morning. The hotel’s covered, and so is a rental car, and if we eat at the hotel breakfast is covered for four days. All we have to pay for is lunch and dinner, and whatever entertainment we want.”

Peter shot him an amused glance. “Like a glass-bottomed boat tour?”

Ray offered him a weak smile. “I was thinking more scuba diving. The water down there’s great for it.”

“I knew it!” Peter crowed, grinning despite himself. “You just want to investigate the sponge migration again.”

“The what?” Janine goggled at Peter.

“I’ll explain in detail later,” Egon sighed. “Ray’s first paranormal experience that produced objective evidence was an underwater fauna relocation, just off of the Keys.”

“I’m sorry,” Ray said again, laughing at himself. “I just - I saw where the trip was for, and I got a little excited. I’ve been wanting to go back ever since we got the PKE meter working, and -”

Winston shook his head. “Hey, you guys can work if you want, but if we’re doing this, I’m not bringing a dang thing. I want a real vacation.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Peter agreed. “Okay, if we’re gonna do this thing, I should start packing.”

Janine thrust one red fingernail at the desk behind her. “Do your paperwork first. If I’m going to reschedule your Saturday appointment and handle calls without you guys all weekend, I want your in-box empty before you leave.”

“Aw, Janine,” Peter wheedled. Egon shook his head and headed for the basement stairs, trap in hand, as Ray and Winston pulled the packs out of Ecto to recharge.

\---

“Couldn’t have asked for better weather,” Winston observed as he checked his regulator.

The boat’s captain laughed. “It’s always like this, except when we get a good storm.”

“It’s a definite improvement over New York this time of year,” Peter admitted. For all that he’d complained the most over Ray’s impulsive acceptance of the offer, he’d been enjoying the trip so far. The plane ride had been smooth, their luggage had gotten though both airports with only one hassle (and the security chief’s eyes had glazed over by less than a third of the way through Egon’s usual spiel; he’d made one cursory search over the single proton pack they’d brought and run it through the x-ray machine a second time, then let it check through), the rental car had been large enough to carry them and their luggage across the Seven Mile Bridge, and the hotel had had great showers and a view to die for. Winston had asked around in Spanish and found a fantastic Cuban place for dinner. Even the music had been great.

Still, coming out to investigate a haunted shipwreck felt entirely too much like work, even if he was the one who wasn’t getting in the water. He looked down at the PKE meter. “You guys sure you want me manning this?

“Yes, Peter,” Egon sighed. “You can operate it perfectly competently, and you have the least current scuba certification.”

“Still not sure how that happened,” Peter admitted. “I hadn’t realized it had been that long.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ray laughed. “I just want some photos of the sponges, and a record of whatever happens psychokinetically. As far as I know, the wreck hasn’t been an active haunting since I was last here.”

Captain Georges plucked off his cap and rubbed a bandanna across his balding head. “Couple of stories in the last five years or so, but mostly from tourists who’d been hitting the bottle. Only one story that I know of from a local, and that could have just been St. Elmo’s Fire.”

“Relax, it’ll be fine,” Ray assured Peter, then slid his facemask into place and dropped over the side. Egon and Winston followed, leaving Peter staring at the glassy waves.

The water was almost as clear as Ray remembered it, although there seemed to be fewer corals and more sponges than before. A drift of white sand had covered some of the dark beams of the wreck, and the ones still exposed seemed to be more barnacle-encrusted, but the frame of the ship was still there, clearly visible. Ray kicked towards it, eyes wide. Behind him, Egon and Winston split up, darting left and right.

The last of the ropes were stiff with salt, barnacles, and algae; they didn’t move as Ray swam past. He peered into an open porthole; most of the deck was long gone, so the interior was partially lit. A tangle of rust hung from a tarnished hook; a ceramic mug, cracked in two, was half-buried by sand and debris. Not much else was left. The lamp he remembered was gone, lost to salvagers or rust and currents.

Something moved in Ray’s peripheral vision; he turned to his left, expecting Egon. A small swirl of sand settled back into place.

Ray grinned to himself. Years of practice had led him to pick up the nearly-subconscious sensations of psychokinetic residues; the wreck sure _felt_ haunted. He edged in the direction of the small motion.

Something struck him in the shoulder, hard and sharp. He whirled backwards, eyes frantic. A drift of red rose past his eyes; he blinked behind the mask and reached for it. Liquid. Blood. His?

A net drifted across his vision, then tightened over his head as the pain in his shoulder doubled; darkness swam up.

\---

“Hey, guys!” Peter yelled at the placid water. “The meter’s going berserk!”

It wasn’t, quite, but it was buzzing like a hornet’s nest and making a breedling noise much higher than its usual chirps and whistles. There were at least three different PKE sources registering on the screen, one of which seemed to be right below him.

Winston broke the surface a few yards from the boat. “Hey, has Ray come up?” he shouted.

Peter shook his head wildly. “Nope. Looks like he was right, though - I’m reading a pair of Class Sixes and an I-don’t-know-what.”

“Crud.” Winston grimaced. “Now I wish we’d brought the pack up on deck instead of leaving it below.”

“Yeah, me too. But at least we brought it with us. Damn, I hate it when Egon’s right about stuff like this.” Peter leaned over the side, holding the meter behind him. “Go get Egon, will you? Someone needs to go get the pack, and I don’t know how to re-tune this thing to -”

Egon came up with a splash; he whipped out the regulator and shoved his mask back. “We may have miscalculated. Where’s the captain?”

“Right here.” The tanned sailor emerged from the tiny cabin and stepped aside Peter. “What’s the scoop?”

“I think,” Egon gasped, “That the spirit may have captured Ray. There are only two places around the wreck where he could have been out of my line of sight for more than a few seconds, and he’s disappeared. I’ve checked them both thoroughly.”

“Oh, great. Get up here!” Peter waved the meter again. “I’m reading two Class Sixes and something else. The last thing we need is for Ray to get snagged by a ghost ship.”

“I don’t think it’s the ship,” Egon explained, snagging the rope ladder by one arm. “It seems - unremarkable. I suspect it’s what _sank_ the ship.”

The captain went slightly paler. “How worried should I be?”

“Not too worried,” Peter said slowly. “The readings aren’t as active now as they were a few minutes ago. But - keep your eyes peeled, okay?” In a much lower voice, he turned towards Egon, murmuring “Let me hand this over, huh, Big Guy? I can barely keep track of the Class Sixes; I don’t have a chance of tracking Ray.”

“Of course,” Egon replied, barely able to keep the worry from his own voice as Winston climbed on deck behind him. “We may need the proton pack -”

“Already on it. Just find Ray!” Peter shouted as he headed for the boat’s tiny cabin.

\---

Ray opened his eyes and couldn’t focus; everything was blurry and slightly dim. Panic rose in his throat; he swallowed it as soon as he realized he still had the mouthpiece in. _Just the mask fogged up,_ he assured himself.

His shoulder hurt. He tried to bring up his right hand and failed; something jerked back at his wrist - rope? Instead, he fumbled with his left hand just below the right collarbone and winced; there was a tear in the skin - shallow, but painful all the same. And there was something clinging to his fingers, tugging at them, between them; he shook his hand, but it seemed stuck.

Something took his free hand, tightly. He thought he felt scales; something on that side was moving, bluish against the turquoise water and white sand. He tried to pull away, but the rough, slick surface yanked back, and his feet slid against the ocean floor.

He thought he heard something chattering to his left - a porpoise? He was wishing he’d tried to clear the mask first when something soft traced across his forehead, leaving cool sleep in its wake again.

\---

“Got him.” Egon’s voice was still carefully level. “Bearing North 33 degrees East.”

“On my way,” the captain announced. The small boat swung around and picked up speed; the sea surface seemed choppier than before, as small waves splashed against the side.

“Okay, Egon,” Winston chided as he took his eyes off the ocean, “what’s the problem, m’man?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your hands are nearly white,” Winston noted. “You don’t normally grip the meter that tightly, so something’s up.”

Egon let out a short, sharp breath. “Well, his biorhythms seem - masked, somehow. Possibly altered. And both of the Class Sixes are still with him.”

“And we only brought the one pack,” Peter groaned, as he set it on a deck chair. “I knew this whole thing was a bad idea. You think they’re trying to posses him?”

“No,” Egon replied, shaking his head sharply. “This is an overlay, not a combination of two signatures. It might indicate magical activity.”

“Like a sea witch casting a spell on him?” Winston asked.

Captain Georges interrupted, “I don’t think you need to worry about that. All the sea witches around here are _santeristas_ ; they think you guys are pretty cool. Some of them are big fans, after you caught the Silent One.”

“Maybe one of them is trying to get into the scuba equipment?” Peter speculated.

“We don’t have to try to trap them,” Winston noted. “No one’s paying us, anyway. We just need to grab Ray and get out of there.”

“Soon,” Egon agreed. “His readings are getting stranger by the minute.”

\---

“Silence! He’ll wake any minute now!”

Ray opened his eyes and blinked. His vision was much clearer now, although everything had an odd bluish tinge. He raised one hand to adjust the mask -

Hey, his right hand was free now! -

\- Hey, his fingers were webbed! Well, that explained why they’d felt like something was clinging to them -

 _\- Hey, he wasn’t wearing the scuba gear anymore -_

“Augh!” Ray jumped back and found himself treading water; oh, great, his feet were webbed now, too. He blinked again, against saltwater; why weren’t his eyes stinging?

“Shush,” said a voice in his ear. He turned, and saw what looked like an impossibly thin blue-skinned woman, small and web-footed, with seaweed for hair. She smiled, showing small, sharp teeth, and whispered, “It will all be all right. Don’t make noise.”

“What’s going on?” Ray yelped. Something flapped at the sides of his neck; his hands flew up - and he nearly cut his fingers on sharp edges. “Gill slits? How? Why?”

“We need to take you somewhere,” she said close to his ear. “Somewhere your air machine cannot go.”

Another web-footed figure sank into view, broad-shouldered, bald, and covered in tiny grey scales. A short, sharp javelin of something white, bone or ivory, was thrust through a belt of kelp. “He wakes? That is good,” he grunted.

Ray scowled. “You stabbed me!” His transformation seemed to be mostly superficial, except for the water-breathing; all his muscles seemed to work the same. And he’d always had two webbed toes, anyway.

“A scrape. Necessary, to introduce the potion.” The new arrival settled into position and faced the blue spirit. “This is the best one you could find?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “He will believe without rationalizing, and yet be reasonable. When I tried to scare him, when he was last here, he only became more curious. He wants to know.”

“Know what?” Ray asked.

She shrugged, a small smile on her thin lips. “You see?”

“I do.” The other pointed with the javelin, towards an undersea hill. “This way. They wait.”

\---

The sea was getting rougher, even though the wind was still calm. Winston didn’t like it. “Hey, guys,” he commented, “I don’t think all of these waves are natural.”

“I concur. Whatever has taken Ray doesn’t want us to follow too closely,” Egon stated.

Peter ran a salt-damp hand through his hair, flattening it. “How much air has he got left, you figure?”

“He’d have run out approximately six minutes ago.”

“What?” Peter jumped to his feet, arms flailing. “You mean he’s drowning down there? Come on, guys, we’ve got to do something -”

Egon shook his head. “His biorhythms show no indications of distress. I think the small alterations we’ve been seeing are also allowing him to breathe, or at least extend the lifespan of the respirator.” He tapped the screen of the meter with a fingernail. “Or possibly his captors have simply taken him to an air-filled cave.”

A wave taller than the boat swept past, spraying them. Peter sputtered, “Maybe we should get back in the water, look around for him?”

“We’re too far away to do any good,” Winston said, looking over Egon’s shoulder at the readings. “Couple of nautical miles. But I think we’re catching up - he hasn’t moved much in the past few minutes.”

\---

“This way,” chirped the blue lady, one of Ray’s thick-fingered hands in her delicate one. She swam towards a tiny opening, one that looked barely big enough for her.

Ray held back. “I don’t think I’ll fit -”

“I will push.” The grey warrior loomed behind him, javelin in hand.

Ray shrugged, then lowered his head to the hole in the white stone. His shoulders fit through well enough; his midsection caught for a moment, then - pop! - he was through without so much as a shove from behind him. The tunnel they were in was wider, although not enough for him to stand in; he kicked twice, swimming onward.

The tunnel joined another, then another, which emptied out into an enormous cave. Ray looked around; dozens - maybe hundreds - of glowing eyes peered from the shadows. The grey creature caught one arm and tugged him towards the single shaft of sunlight filtering down through some unseen portal. “We have brought one from the surface world,” he called, and was greeted with a noisy combination of tinkling cheers and hissing boos from all around.

One voice separated from the crowd; another female, well-muscled and thick-legged, approached him. “Air-breather,” she said in a low, strong voice, “Know you who we are?”

He hadn’t until that moment. “Nereids,” he said, suddenly sure of it. “Sea nymphs.”

“You do know. Good.” This one was violet, with short, white hair like coral polyps.

The grey one made a face, his flat nose wrinkling. “And Oceanids, as well.”

“Yeah, of course, sorry.” Ray blinked. “But - what do you need me for?” He glanced down; a shadow had moved underneath him somewhere, but he couldn’t pinpoint where. Suddenly, he felt surrounded.

The oceanid suddenly looked tired. “Because you would listen, She said.”

“You would see, and hear,” the blue nereid added, her voice nearly drowned by the noise of the shadowy crowd behind her.

“Hear what?” Eyes glinted from the depths of the cavern, orange, yellow, and here and there a flash of red. They reminded him vaguely of the colors of the sponges.

The violet nereid, who seemed to outrank the other two, pointed one arm up, then down. “Your people are pouring poisons into the rivers and the air. I do not think you mean them to -”

“They do!” shrieked a voice behind her. “They seek to cut us off at our roots, as they did the dryads on the land!” A ripple of agreement spread through that half of the cave.

“- But they are ending up here, in the oceans. We cannot get rid of them faster than you send them.” She crossed her arms. “Tell them to stop.”

“Lots of humans don’t like that,” Ray explained anxiously. “It wastes fertilizer and topsoil, and pollutes our living space, too. But we’re working on it. It takes time - no one decided to pollute the environment, so no one thinks they’re responsible.”

The grey oceanid shook his head. “Not good enough, mortal. What can you do to speed it up?”

“Nothing,” Ray protested. “I mean, no more than I already am - I sign petitions, and donate to environmental organizations, but I’m not politically important, or rich.”

A new nymph, so pale she was nearly transparent, slithered forward and displayed a ferocious set of claws. “No? But you can see us, sense us, hear us - and you are not afraid. Are you not a high priest?”

“We don’t really have those anymore,” Ray tried to explain. “There are bishops, but it’s not quite the same thing, and I’m not one.”

The pale nymph shouldered the violet one out of the way. “Then what are you, that you stink of spirit-stuff and do not shudder at our touch?”

“I’m a Ghostbuster,” Ray said. The cavern fell suddenly silent.

For a moment, Ray thought they were just disappointed. Then a single, sharp voice hissed “Necksa’s captors.”

“What?” It took Ray a moment to remember. “Oh, the king of the undines. Well, yes, but - he swallowed us! If he hadn’t, we wouldn’t have bothered him.”

“Liar!” The pale nymph screeched, then dove away, back into the shadows. Suddenly the cavern was a cacophony of angry voices. The blue, violet, and grey spirits shifted positions, as if to protect him; the grey oceanid drew his javelin again.

An orange-skinned, scaly oceanid darted past him, shaking one webbed fist. “Kill him! Write our message on his leathery skin and send it back with his blood on it!”

“No,” growled the grey oceanid as voices surged behind them. “That was not in the agreement.”

The blue nereid ducked behind the violet warrior, who shoved the orange one back into the darkness. “That would be foolishness indeed, with his comrades so close,” she hissed; a bone knife appeared in her hand.

Ray let himself relax a little, knowing the guys were nearby. “What can I do?” he asked, trying to address the whole chamber. “I’m glad to help if I can, but I’m really getting the feeling you thought I was someone else.”

Another javelin flew past, hardly slowed by the water. “Drywalker!” “Polluter!” “Exorcist!” “Propeller-driver!” The shouts were coming from all around; the gray oceanid looked scared, now.

“We did not know,” the blue nereid began. “How can we know that -”

 _That what happened to Necksa is not threatened to me?_ boomed a voice from below. Ray looked down; a dizzying void, the darkest depths of the ocean, seemed to be swimming up at him. He tried to move, but he was caught in the current, swooping down towards -

Cleavage?

\- And he almost passed out again.

\---

“Incoming!” Egon shouted, nearly dropping the meter.

Peter dove for the lone proton pack. Captain Georges stuck his head out from the cabin. “Should I drop anchor?”

“The opposite, I think. We - whoa!” The boat pitched dramatically, then rose up, as if it were on the back of a swell, and stayed there. Egon was tossed to his hands and knees.

Peter popped back up, thrower thrumming. “What the -”

“Guys, it’s okay, don’t shoot!” Ray leaped from the water and caught at the dangling rope ladder. “We’re good, I’m fine, it’s okay!”

Winston looked up; his spine prickled with a combination of _deja vu_ and awe. “Your idea of okay is a little different from mine, Ray.”

Peter followed Winston’s gaze, into the vast and motherly eyes of a thirty-foot-tall merwoman with skin like ebony. There were a few spirits who gave Peter the impression they were staring into his soul; She didn’t need to stare - one glance must have laid every secret nook of his essence open to her. He swallowed. “Uh - yeah, I’m with Zed, here.”

Egon scrambled back to his feet, blinked, then bowed low. “Ah. Yes. Santeria, I remember. Maman Yemaya, I presume?”

 _Correct._ Her voice rang in the water around them, in their blood, in the seawater of every cell. _My children borrowed your brother, but they began to misbehave. I am returning him to you._

Peter swallowed. “Thanks, ma’am.”

Ray stood up on the deck, gill slits flapping on the sides of his neck. “They wanted me to deliver a message from all of them, the spirits of the ocean around here, I mean, to us - to humans, I mean, not the Ghostbusters - that we were hurting the oceans - except that once they realized I _was_ a Ghostbuster, some of them wanted to make an example out of me. People haven’t exactly been good to them around here, and -” he looked embarrassed “- Our reputation in the spirit world isn’t exactly pristine, either.”

 _But I trust that the message is received, and will be delivered as best you can?_ the sea-orisha toned.

“Of course,” the Ghostbusters intoned.

She didn’t reply; she merely smiled, and sank beneath the waves. The boat sank back to the surface as the sea calmed to nearly glass.

Peter turned to Ray. “The gills are a new look on you.”

Ray raised his hands to his throat. “Huh. I thought they’d go away as soon as I surfaced. They dosed me with a potion; I guess I just have to wait for it to wear off.”

“As long as it does before we get back on the plane,” Winston said, grinning.

“Yeah.” Ray grinned back, then suddenly looked stricken. “Oh, crud.”

“What is it, Ray?” The others crowded around him.

Ray’s eyes crinkled in worry. “We’re going to have to pay the deposit on the scuba tank, aren’t we?”

“You get hassled by sea spirits and meet the Mother of the Deep herself, and that’s what you’re worried about?” Peter groaned, then let himself laugh in relief. “C’mon, Ray. Let’s at least find you some dry clothes, and maybe a towel to hide the gills.”

“Let’s just hope they’re gone by the time we get on the plane,” Winston said, guiding Ray by the shoulder towards the ship’s cabin and grinning.


End file.
